


learning to keep your head above water

by expirings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Bisexual Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Freeform, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry is depressed, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, M/M, Slow Burn, Trauma, Triwizard Tournament, draco is also depressed, it just takes awhile, tags may continue to be edited lol, they learn how to deal with their problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expirings/pseuds/expirings
Summary: Harry Potter keeps sneaking out at night. Draco Malfoy is going to find out why.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 76
Kudos: 246





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 4th year au. Most events will be aligned with canon, though of course there's going to be Draco and Harry. Trigger warnings in case you didn't read the tags: this story is a lot about Harry's child abuse, my interpretation of it (mixed in with some personal experience) and how he learns to deal with it when he has a friend (Draco) who's gone through similar experiences.  
> This is dedicated to Gillian, one of my dearest friends who not only encouraged me to keep writing this story, but was also my first beta reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a 4th year au. Most events will be aligned with canon, though of course there's going to be Draco and Harry. Trigger warnings in case you didn't read the tags: this story is a lot about Harry's child abuse, my interpretation of it (mixed in with some personal experience) and how he learns to deal with it when he has a friend (Draco) who's gone through similar experiences.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Gillian, one of my dearest friends who not only encouraged me to keep writing this story, but was also my first beta reader.

_Harry Potter was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs. Or rather, he was trying to fall asleep in the cupboard under the stairs. He was pretty sure there was a spider crawling on him somewhere, but it wouldn’t do him any good to try to kill it — if he moved too much he’d make too much noise, and his aunt Petunia was a light sleeper, and Harry knew from incidents before that his uncle Vernon would be nowhere near civil if he woke her._

_The last time he’d woken up his aunt had been maybe a year before. Harry had been dreaming about something he couldn’t remember now — though sometimes he could still remember the woman in his dream screaming — and had kicked the wall in his sleep. Petunia had woken and complained to her husband. Vernon’s heavy steps downstairs woke Harry, and he knew what he was in for. It was for a week that Harry wasn’t allowed to leave the house, so that the bruise on his cheek wouldn’t be noticed. Usually they didn’t do anything to his face._

_Now Harry could feel the spider on his neck, and he resisted every urge he felt to twist out of his curled-up position and to run to the downstairs bathroom. After nearly 11 years Harry had hoped he’d gotten sleeping in the cupboard down to a science, but of course he couldn’t account for everything. He felt the spider crawl up his neck and over his ear, then into his hair where he couldn’t feel its legs anymore. He tried again to fall asleep. And he did._  
  
-

After so many years, it’d be more expected he would have nightmares over his near death experiences with Voldemort, not the mundane nights he’d spent trying to sleep in the cramped, dusty cupboard beneath the Dursley’s stairs. But Harry Potter dreamt more frequently about his aunt and uncle’s house than he did about Voldemort. No, Harry Potter didn’t dream about Tom Riddle in the Chamber or of Voldemort peeking out of old Professor Quirrel’s head — Harry Potter dreamt about the creaky floorboards of the house he was raised in. He would wake up, cramped and small like how he had slept for the first 11 years of his life, and he would feel an ache in his chest and a crick in his neck. He would open his eyes and he would be in a Hogwarts bed, and he felt like he was still under those stairs.

He woke up, still able to feel the spider on his neck, and he peeked over at Ron, who was snoring soundly in his bed. Harry took a deep breath, but he did not close his eyes — he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and made sure to take in the room, to look at the cracks in the old stone walls and the red and gold of his bed curtains. He spent a good five minutes doing this, breathing deeply, in and out, and looking at the details of the Gryffindor boys’ dorm. Harry did this until his breaths were even and his heart rate had slowed. It took a while, it always did. He laid back against his pillow and looked up at the red canopy over his bed. His bed at Hogwarts was bigger than that damn cupboard. He sighed, and tired as he was, he couldn’t bear to close his eyes. 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any predictions or ideas for this story please let me know! I'm very open to ideas as I'm still writing it (and if I use your idea, I'll credit you of course!) This is my first time uploading a fic to ao3, so I'm hoping the formatting and everything is okay. Kudos and comments are appreciated :)


	2. the first night of many

Harry Potter seemed especially tired that Monday. He was tired every Monday, as most students were, but that Monday in September he looked like he was about to fall over where he stood. It was far too early in the school year for Potter to be dealing with death-defying situations yet, thought Draco, so why was he so dead tired? Ron stood beside Hermione, looking rather bored while Hermione looked like she was listening intently to Hagrid. Draco was used to tuning out his Care of Magical Creatures lessons by now, after all what had the class offered him before but a broken arm last year? No, Draco usually spent the class period running on autopilot, doing his best to make his classmates do any dirty work with the animals rather than himself. But today Draco was thinking about Harry Potter. 

After class when everyone was at lunch in the Great Hall, Draco snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table to spot Harry getting up from his seat and (assumably) going back to his dorm. Hopefully he would get some sleep, Draco thought. Ron and Hermione stayed at the table, squabbling over who got to take the last tart off of Harry’s abandoned plate. Draco took a sip of his juice and wondered what the Gryffindor dorm looked like.

-

Harry Potter was, in fact, in the Gryffindor dorm. He slumped down into his bed and reveled at having a proper duvet to snuggle into. Even though he’d finally gotten a bedroom at home with the Dursley’s, they’d not really gotten him more than a cot and some old holey blankets to sleep with, so his bed in the dorm was heaven (though he made sure never to voice this sentiment, because everyone complained about the dorm beds being too old and lumpy). Harry snuggled into the duvet and tired desperately to sleep, even with his nerves firing constantly. As always, it took countless minutes for him to calm down enough to close his eyes, but he finally did fall asleep, his glasses still set on the bridge of his nose. 

-  
Harry woke later, Ron shaking him awake. Harry froze under Ron’s grip. “C’mon mate, we’ve got to get to class.”  
Harry got up without complaint, “Y’know you didn’t have to come get me. Don’t bother getting in trouble because I couldn’t sleep last night.”  
“You’re my best friend, Harry, I really don’t mind. We have Divination, so we don’t have to rush,” Ron looked over at the door, “but Hermione will have our heads if she finds out we skipped, so come on, then.” Ron kept his hold on Harry’s arm and dragged him out of bed and out of the dorm. They made their way (albeit, somewhat slowly) up to the Divination Tower, where Professor Trelawney greeted them with a wide grin and mumbled something about how lovely it was to see them both as she had sensed their impending doom, and was happy to see that they hadn’t died mysteriously yet.  
Harry and Ron sat down with Neville and Hermione at a small table with a crystal ball as their professor pulled out a large star chart. Harry was just glad he didn’t need to pay any attention – he rested his chin in his hands, elbows on the table, and let himself drift off. 

-

Harry was endlessly glad when dinner was over with and he could go straight back to bed. He was tired, he didn’t want to think about how school had started just a week before and everyone was still talking about what had happened at the Quidditch World Cup. He didn’t want to think about the insignia he’d seen in the sky that night, didn’t want to think about what it meant because last year he’d had a break from Voldemort, somewhat, if even for a moment. Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping this headache he’d had since the night before would go away if he just stopped thinking about everything. He laid down against his pillow as the other boys got ready for bed. Harry had changed in the bathroom before everyone else, as he always had done. His dorm-mates went to their beds, grumbling and complaining about schoolwork to one another until finally, finally after the lights were out and Harry could allow himself to stop thinking, they were all asleep, and an hour later, so was he.  
-  
_  
It was four years before, and Harry was 10. He was home and he was quiet, sitting in his cupboard and playing pretend silently with the little army men he’d stolen from the trash when Dudley had decided he didn’t want them anymore. It was morning, and no one else had woken up yet. Harry knew he had chores to do, but he was letting himself procrastinate this morning – he’d cleaned the house inside and out yesterday, he figured he wouldn’t have to sweep the porch or anything right away. He heard a crash in the kitchen. Harry hid the army men under the old blanket he had and left his cupboard to see what had happened. Three China plates were smashed on the floor, a stray cat looking at him from the open kitchen cabinets. The kitchen window had been left open. The night before he’d nearly burnt dinner, and he’d opened the window to get rid of the smell – he’d left it open.  
Vernon came into the kitchen, red in the face, and somehow got redder when he spied the smashed plates. Petunia, behind him, exclaimed “My great grandmother gave me those plates!” before screeching in fear, “Vermin! Get it out of here at once!” Pointing at the cat, a skinny calico with no intention of getting down from the cabinet.  
Harry, carefully, avoiding the glass on the floor, went over to the cat, holding his hand up so the cat could smell him, before grabbing the cat and putting it outside through the back door. He came back in and closed the kitchen window. Vernon looked at Harry, still an unsettling shade of scarlet as his wife gripped his shoulder. He spoke in a voice that was surprisingly calm, “Clean up the glass, boy, then come into the study, I’d like a word with you.”  
_  
-  
Harry woke to a dark dorm room. He could hear Seamus snoring across from him, and Ron turned over in his bed. The room felt…too small. Harry felt so stupid – this dorm was so much larger than that stupid cupboard, and he’d managed in that for 11 years, why couldn’t he handle being in a damn room? He was breathing hard. Harry grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and left the room, putting a temporary silence charm over the door so he didn’t wake anyone else.  
Harry managed to get out to the Great Lake without getting caught – he’d been halfway down the hall when he’d realized he’d left his invisibility cloak back in his trunk in the dorm, but he didn’t want to risk waking anyone up, didn’t want a room full of boys asking him what he was awake for, didn’t need Ron asking him why he was leaving with his cloak in the middle of the night. Harry sat down at the edge of the Lake shore, looked out across the dark water, and breathed, in and out. 

-  
Draco couldn’t sleep. It was early in the AM and he’d snuck out of the dungeons, wandering the halls and whispering to the portraits. He’d quite taken a liking to some of them – he’d taken to having casual conversation with a painting of a unicorn in the Slytherin dorm, and had found that most portraits were good conversationalists, better so than Crabbe and Goyle at least. He was going up a set of steps on his way to look for a painting of an old prince he’d become rather fond of talking to (they quite liked discussing chess strategy) when he saw Harry leave the Gryffindor Tower. Draco said nothing, and hoped Harry wouldn’t see him. Neither of them were in the mood to fight, and neither of them wanted the detention they’d be guaranteed if they were caught out and about at night. Luckily Draco was far enough away that Harry didn’t see him. Draco, as always suspicious of what the oh so great Boy Who Lived would be up to at this hour, proceeded to follow him. He was at enough of a distance that Harry didn’t notice him. Draco followed him to the shore of the Lake, though he lingered back by the shadows of the trees. He wasn’t sure how good Potter’s night-vision was, but he didn’t want Potter to find him and accuse him of something stupid. Draco was too tired for that.  
He watched Harry sit down at the edge of the Lake, clutching his knees to his chest while he looked out at the water. Harry Potter took many shaky breaths before seemingly managing to calm down. He tucked his chin and looked down, looked at his dirty feet covered in dirt and sighed. He didn’t know what he was doing – didn’t know if there was anything he could do. He was nothing more than a Golden Boy for the Wizarding World, nothing more than a dancing monkey for Dumbledore and a slave to the Dursleys. He reached forward and dipped a finger into the cold surface of the Lake, watching the ripples go out until he couldn’t see them anymore.  
Draco leaned his head back against the tree he was under. What could Potter possibly be so worked up about that he’s in such a state at this time of night? Harry laid back against the sand and looked up at the stars. It was nice to look at the sky. He hadn’t gotten to do it often as a child, hand gotten to just sit and look. He must’ve been paying some attention in Divination while half-asleep, though, because he looked through the sky and spotted a constellation. He was able to find Cassiopeia, and smiled to himself – at least he’d managed to learn something, no matter how useless it may be; he’d done at least one thing today besides mope and sleep.  
Draco felt like he was intruding. He felt horribly out of place with his back against a tree, spying on Harry Potter stargazing somberly in the middle of the night. He went to leave, and managed to trip over a tree root. Potter was up so quickly that Draco knew he’d been seen, though he ran back to the castle and hoped Potter would never, ever bring it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way this story is formatted it like a series of vignettes, I suppose. I hope it all makes sense with how it's formatted, being short scenes and everything. This is just how I know how to write, it's how my mind works. Please let me know what you think - comments and kudos are appreciated :)


	3. if you can't hide, you may as well become invisible

“You sleep alright last night, Harry?” Neville asked him. Harry had made it back to his bed last night, though he felt sure that he looked a mess. He’d been shocked to find Malfoy of all people behind him at the Lake, and had just stared as Malfoy ran away from him. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Harry made his way back to the Tower and into his dorm. He’d been tossing and turning all night wondering how Malfoy had known to find him there, wondering why Malfoy had followed him in the middle of the night, what could he possibly be scheming against Harry now?   
“Yeah, I slept fine.” Harry said, running a hand through his hair, which always looked its worst in the mornings.   
“Glad to hear it,” Neville said, leaving to brush his teeth in the bathroom. Harry grabbed his school robes and waited until everyone had gone into the bathroom to wash before he got dressed. 

-

He didn’t know why he didn’t say anything to Ron or Hermione about the night before. Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. He knew _why._ He didn’t want them asking about why he couldn’t sleep, or about his midnight walks. They’d just nag him and assume it was something to do with Voldemort, because everything was always about Voldemort, and saving the school, or wizarding kind, or the world, or whatever. And Harry didn’t want to tell them that he kept having nightmares about his home, because what would they say to him then? He didn’t want to talk about it. He sat with everyone at breakfast, ate his toast and let himself fall into the group’s natural camaraderie. 

-  
Draco couldn’t fathom why Granger and the Weasel hadn’t stormed up to him, asking him about Potter and why he’d been spying on him last night. Unless, he thought, Potter hadn’t told them. Now that he thought about it, it was curious that Potter had been alone, without either of his Gryffindor friends by his side (as they almost always seemed to be). He glanced over at Harry, only to see him smiling with his friends as though last night hadn’t happened. He never looked over at the Slytherin table, like he usually did (often to give Draco a dirty look) during breakfast. Harry left for classes with his friends and it was like nothing at all had ever happened. 

-  
That night Draco snuck out of the dungeons again. He figured, on one hand he could talk to the paintings if he liked, on the other, if he so happened to see Harry Potter sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower, he could figure out if Potter was up to anything. This seemed reasonable, and Draco didn’t think he’d get caught a second time. If Harry was scheming, if there was even the _possibility_ of him scheming, he needed to know about it. Harry didn’t leave the Tower that night though, but Draco would still sneak out from the dungeons until two nights later, when he saw Potter walking down the corridor at 3 in the morning. 

-  
Harry had slept for two hours at least, before he’d woken up from a nightmare. He’d had a nightmare the night before too, but he was apprehensive to leave, considering Malfoy had followed him the night before. He’d ended up only managing to toss and turn all night, not getting a moment’s more rest. It’d been two days now though, so Harry figured he should be alright (though he kept glancing around the corridors in fear of being found by teachers or Malfoy). Harry thought about going to the Quidditch pitch, but it was far too open, and the full moon was too bright – he didn’t want to be spotted. So Harry made his way to the Great Lake again.   
He sat on the sand with his legs crisscrossed and took a few deep breaths. He listened carefully to the water lapping at the shore, to the crickets in the grass and the gentle stirring of the giant squid sleeping at the bottom of the lake, and closed his eyes.   
Draco Malfoy felt weird again. He felt like he was intruding, as he had felt before, so why had he followed Potter when he saw him heading for the Lake again? He stood beside a tree (he was wary of settling in, he didn’t want Potter to see him, _again_ ) and looked down at his feet, clad in green slippers. He felt stupid. Potter wasn’t doing anything except look mopey and look like he was meditating.   
Harry had heard the gentle footsteps. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. If it were a teacher, they’d be yelling at him; if it were his friends, they would say something. He took another deep breath and spoke softly, hoping to scare the prat, “I know you’re there, Malfoy.”   
He listened to Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath before he ran back to the castle. Harry poked his finger into the sand. He really should remember to bring his invisibility cloak next time he snuck out.   
-  
Draco was not nearly as sneaky as he thought he was. He’d figured that out as soon as Potter had opened his mouth. Potter hadn’t even had to turn around to know he was there, dammit, and why had he even decided to follow him in the first place? It was stupid, Potter wasn’t doing a thing, and Draco felt like an idiot for sneaking out multiple nights in a row now to try and catch him again. He wouldn’t sneak out again, not to risk getting caught, or for the dumb task of following around Harry Potter. Draco kicked off his slippers and settled into his bed, closing his eyes tight. 

-  
The rest of the week was rather boring for Harry – though he didn’t know why he’d expected any kind of excitement. As fun as magic was, and nice as it was to think about how to turn a sewing needle into a hedgehog, Harry was still bored. It seemed like the glow Hogwarts had had was gone, like it wasn’t quite a getaway from home, not with all the responsibility the Wizarding World put on his shoulders to be their Boy Who Lived. It was better than home in the sense that he knew the likelihood of him getting beaten for dropping something was slim, but worse in the way that it was unpredictable. At least at home he knew he’d get beaten if he dropped a plate. Here, he never knew was to expect, what danger could be lurking to try and kill him, as something always seemed to do year after year.   
Harry didn’t often look at himself in the mirror. He got dressed in his pajamas in the Gryffindor bathroom after everyone else had fallen asleep. He’d stayed up late half-way trying to finish a paper for Charms (he didn’t end up finishing it) before realizing he was still in his day clothes. He only saw himself briefly as he dressed – he didn’t like to look. The boy in the mirror was thin, his brown skin was sallow, his cheeks slightly sunken. He’d always looked this way, everyone assumed it was natural. He had too, for awhile. His first year at Hogwarts he’d gained some weight from all the eating and excitement (even if he had vomited up a lot of his meals – he wasn’t used to eating so much, but he couldn’t help it…he didn’t usually get the chance) and he’d nearly glowed up until that incident with the Philosopher’s stone. That summer he’d gone back to how he’d always looked – overworked, underfed and slightly broken. And after that Hogwarts hadn’t seemed to change him nearly as much as that first year had. So when he nearly got killed time and time again, Harry was expecting it, it always happened eventually. He couldn’t hope for anything more than a death that wasn’t too painful.   
Harry finished putting on his pajamas, telling himself he ought to eat more, before someone on the Quidditch team noticed the inward curve beneath his ribcage. That Sunday night, Harry wandered again down the corridor. This time he’d finally remembered to put the invisibility cloak in his pocket. 

-  
Draco had left the dungeons again. He had gone to the Owlery. His mother had sent him a letter that morning – a letter that made him feel rather uneasy – and he’d finally written a response, when he realized that everyone else was asleep, and he was alone in his bed, still in his weekend clothes, holding several pieces of parchment with paragraphs scratched out and his wand glowing in his lap. He didn’t want to wait until morning to send his letter – it felt important, somehow, that he respond as quickly as he could to his mother. His father was out on business right now, he knew, and his father quite liked to read Draco’s letters to his mother (though Draco always wished he wouldn’t. If he wanted to write to his father, he would).   
Draco had been making his way back toward the dungeons when he saw Harry Potter sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower, yet again. 

-  
He saw Malfoy and rounded the corner, throwing his invisibility cloak on. Why was that git still following him? Hadn’t he scared him off? Harry heard Draco’s footsteps as he too, came around the corner, when Harry realized Draco looked like he was going back to the dungeons. He wasn’t following him, then. Probably.   
Heavy footsteps paired with delicate ones made their way down the hall – Filch and his demonic cat Mrs. Norris. “I hear you kids! I’ll have you scraping beneath the tables in the Great Hall for sneaking out,” Filch’s slimy voice echoed, his cat mewing as he finished speaking, like she was all too pleased to be involved in hunting down children for detention.   
Draco hadn’t seen where Harry had gone, but he definitely didn’t want to be caught by Filch, definitely didn’t want to scrape tables. And then he felt a warm hand grip his wrist and spin him around to the wall, and Draco was staring straight into the eyes of Harry Potter.   
Or rather, almost looking him straight in the eyes. Draco hadn’t realized he was a good three inches taller than Potter until now. Draco could feel some kind of fabric, soft as silk, around the two of them, and looked over to see Filch coming down the hall, looking right at them, but saying nothing. Harry’s breath was hot in such a small space. “Why the hell,” Harry whispered, “are you following me?”   
Draco opened his mouth to answer when Filch walked right past them, merely feet away from where they stood.   
“He can’t see you, idiot.” Harry nearly spat under his breath. Why was he so angry? “So answer the damn question.”   
Draco couldn’t breathe. Harry looked about ready to punch him as soon as Filch left the corridor, and Draco was…well he was not a fighter, if the shiner Granger had given him last year said anything. “I,” he started to say, and Potter’s green eyes had never looked so dark, “I was coming back from the Owlery. I wasn’t – I wasn’t following you.”   
“I don’t think I believe you.” Harry did believe him. “So why don’t you piss off back to your common room,” He curled his lip, in a way he never had to anyone before, “and don’t follow me again, or I won’t be nearly so nice.”   
Filch and Mrs. Norris left the corridor, and Harry pushed Draco out from under the cloak before racing back to Gryffindor Tower, glad he’d brought his cloak, because he didn’t want that blonde bastard to see him run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to be updating so soon, but with the current worldwide quarantine going on, I've got a decent amount of time to write and edit. I have some classes online, and I suffer from chronic pain, so I can't say how regularly I'll be updating, but I plan on updating whenever I can, as long as you all keep reading! I'll be uploading another chapter tonight, and if all goes well I should update again before the end of the week. :) Also, a HUGE thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos so far! You all give me the encouragement to keep writing and updating, it means a lot <3


	4. a snake in tall grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's child abuse in the tags of this story, but I still thought I'd give a warning! Child abuse is briefly referenced in this chapter.

Harry felt stupid, thinking to himself later that he’d been getting more enjoyment out of sneaking out at night to sit at the Lake than he did talking to his friends. He felt awful about it – Ron and his family had taken him to the World Cup, and even though that night had sucked because of Death Eaters and their fun affinity for murder, as well as Harry’s bad luck for whenever he was feeling happy something horrible had to happen – and yet he couldn’t bring himself to actually listen to anything his friend had to say. If Ron and Hermione noticed how spaced-out he’d become, they never said a thing about it. Harry hoped they wouldn’t ask or thought that perhaps he was a better actor than he gave himself credit for.   
They were making their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts now, and Harry wasn’t particularly excited, though Ron was blabbering on about how scary the new Professor Moody looked, even if he _had_ performed the hilarious spell that turned Malfoy into a ferret two weeks before. Hermione smacked Ron in the arm and reminded him that, “No matter how distasteful he is, Malfoy’s still a student, and turning him into a ferret and smacking him against a stone was terribly inhumane compared to a regular detention.”   
When they sat down for class it wasn’t until Professor Moody started talking about the Unforgiveable Curses that Harry was finally interested in what someone was saying. The Professor started with three jars of spiders on his desk, one by one showing each curse. He made the first spider dance around with the Imperious Curse, tortured the second spider until it folded in on itself with the Cruciatus Curse, and finally killed the last spider with a flash of green light as he said _Avada Kedavra._ It sent Harry’s thoughts spiraling around his parents, how they died, how he almost died, but didn’t. After class, they went to dinner, and Harry was quiet, Hermione ate quickly before fleeing to the library, and Ron talked with his brothers instead of Harry, thinking he needed space. 

-

Harry had always wondered how home would have been if the Dursleys had magic themselves. At first, he thought maybe they would be kinder, because they would be like him, yet when his minded wandered to other scenarios, he wondered if they would treat him the same exact way, only with magic to their advantage too. He was sure that if his uncle could, he would use Unforgivables on Harry as punishment. Or just to keep him busy. Keep him awake for days doing chores because he wouldn’t have a choice under the Imperious curse. When he broke something maybe he’d be tortured with Cruciatus like that spider in class. That spider – which had trembled and shaken so violently, seizing in pain as its legs bent back into its body – it could’ve been him. And Harry was reminded that every moment he was a part of magic, of being a wizard, he was part of his own death sentence. Magic would kill him, he knew. But still, magic seemed better than home.   
-  
In his dream that night, his cousin Dudley and his cronies had pinned Harry down at the end of the neighborhood street, off to the side where no one would spy them through the trees. Dudley had a knee on Harry’s chest and spat in his face as his friends held Harry’s arms and legs – not that he was bothering too much to struggle – it wasn’t the first time they’d done this to him. When they finally let him up, Harry was covered in spit and dirt and when he walked into the house his aunt slapped him for getting dirt on the rug. At least, he had thought, he could take a bath, and change into a different pair of clothes before making dinner.   
-  
How many nights in a row was Harry going to wake up in the middle of the night? It felt endless – going to classes, pretending to listen to his friends, waking up in the middle of the night only to think not about how Voldemort kept attempting to kill him, but about the time his uncle had broken his arm when he was four (and hadn’t taken him to the doctor afterwards), or when his aunt had poured hot soup he’d poorly prepared onto his hands over the sink. “Learn to cook, boy,” she had said, “Or I’ll be doing more to you than spilling soup.”   
And here he was again, in his dorm, sweating through his pajamas, trying hard not to wake his dorm-mates with the screams he felt caught in his throat. Whenever Vernon had wacked him with the belt, he would get ten more lashes for every scream. Harry had learned how to be quiet, every time he woke up from a nightmare, he managed every time to keep his shouts in his chest and out of his mouth.   
-  
Harry walked through the corridor, his cloak over him, and he glanced down the hall leading to the dungeons before making his way back out to the Lake. He wondered if Malfoy was still trying to follow him around. He sat against the tree he’d seen Malfoy leaning on that first night, pulled his knees to his chest, and looked up at how the moonlight bled through the tree leaves.   
-  
He’d fallen asleep, though not for long, as it was still terrifically dark outside when he opened his eyes again. A small snake was curled around his ankle, though not constricting, Harry was curious as to what the thing was doing. _“What are you doing?”_ Harry asked the serpent.   
The snakes uncoiled and went back into the grass, _“It is cold.”_ it said, _“You are warm.”_ The snake had green scales and black eyes that glittered under the moon.   
_“I didn’t mind,”_ said Harry, _“come back.”_ Harry held out his arm to the snake, who after a moment of hesitation, made his way up Harry’s arm until he was nestled in comfortably. Harry stroked its scales until it fell asleep.   
He left an hour before dawn, slipping the snake back into the grass and hissing a “goodbye” before making his way back into the castle. 

-  
Draco had spent the night in the Slytherin common room, sitting on the couch and looking out their underground window into the green depths of the Great Lake. He’d spent the night wondering if Potter was sitting by the Lake again, meditating, or whatever it was he seemed to be doing. He wondered if Potter still thought he was following him. Draco had fallen asleep with an open book in his lap as he listened to the fireplace simmer slowly into embers.   
-  
It wasn’t until later that next morning Harry heard about the other schools coming to visit for a so-called “special event.” He just hoped that he wouldn’t be involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is short! Most chapters after this should be longer, this is just getting some more exposition out of the way :) I hope you're all enjoying this story so far, please let me know what you think! Comments mean more than you know <3


	5. maybe we should've looked at the stars instead of talking

Harry hadn’t expected his name to come out of the Goblet of Fire. He hadn’t expected to be rushed into an interview with the other three students who’d been picked, and he certainly hadn’t expected for Ron to not believe him when he said he didn’t put his name in the stupid Goblet. But now he had Ron angry with him, Hermione wouldn’t talk to him about it, there was going to be an article about him in the _Prophet_ tomorrow and he’d be in the spotlight again because somehow he always managed to get involved in every single thing that could possibly put him in danger.  
Harry was at the Lake, he hadn’t even waited for his dorm-mates to go to sleep, he hadn’t said anything at all about where he was going, and none of them had asked. He threw a rock into the water and watched the ripples spread out. He’d taken off his shoes and considered just diving into the lake for the giant squid to get him. Nothing could ever go right; he could never have a school year of peace. His feet were covered in sand. He wanted to pull out his hair, wanted to scream, wanted to yell, wanted to drown in the fucking lake because every time he tried to just be as normal as The Boy Who Fucking Lived could, every single time it fucked up, and someone was angry with him, and he was under pressure or in danger and –  
“I swear I’m not following you.” A voice said. “Alright, I admit that’s a lie. I did follow you this time, you seemed like – ”  
“I didn’t put my name in that fucking cup, Malfoy.” Harry said, spinning on his heel to look at the taller boy standing behind him, “So if you’ve come here to take the piss, I’d _really_ suggest leaving, or I’ll throw you into the lake next.” Harry still had a rock in his hand.  
“I know you didn’t put your name in the cup, Potter.” Malfoy said. “You wouldn’t be so angry if you had done it, and – ” Draco cut himself off from saying something he’d regret, something along the lines of saying Harry was too stupid to have been able to put his name in the cup anyway. “And you looked like you were gonna commit murder when you left the castle, so I figured…”  
“What? What could you possibly have thought would’ve come out of you following me, Malfoy? _Again._ ”  
Draco held up his hands, “Look, I can piss off if you really want me to. It just looked like your Weasel and Granger didn’t want to talk to you.”  
“Are you volunteering?” Harry asked. “To talk to me? Because I don’t know if I want it. After all, I wouldn’t want to be hanging around with _the wrong sort._ ”  
“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but you don’t own the Lake,” Draco said, “so if you don’t mind, I was going to study.” He pulled a book from his bag and sat down in the grass. Harry didn’t object and walked back over to the shore to sit by himself. What would be the point in arguing? 

-  
Draco was there the next night by the lake when Harry sat down at the shoreline, not bothering to even glance at the blond. Draco was there the next night and the next, and Harry was too, sitting on the shore, silent besides occasionally sticking his feet into the water.  
“Don’t you ever think you’ll be caught down here?” Draco asked abruptly. He’d never spoken before while they had been together at the Lake. “The Lakeshore isn’t exactly hidden if someone were to really look outside.”  
“I have my cloak.” said Harry.  
“So you’d leave me to fend for myself?” Draco asked, joking with him – since when was Draco the joking type?  
“Yep.” Harry replied, picking up a small stone from the sand and skipping it twice before it fell into the Lake. Draco went back to reading his book in the light of the moon. 

-  
“Arent you worried about the first task?” Draco slipped an old piece of parchment into his book as a bookmark.  
“Not really.” said Harry. “I don’t think I’ll die. But if I do, what’s it matter? I’m a martyr for them anyway, they’d just be pissed it wasn’t Voldemort who did it.”  
Draco didn’t ask who “they” were, he had a feeling he knew. He said nothing.  
“What are you reading?” Harry asked him, turning around to actually look at Draco for the first time since they’d started sitting together at the Lake. “It doesn’t look like a textbook.”  
“Muggle fiction.” Draco said quickly, “Nothing good.”  
“Better than a textbook,” Harry grinned, “I can’t keep my eyes open to read a textbook.”  
“It’s Shakespeare.”  
“Alright, I’ll admit, that’s not that much better than a textbook.”  
“Its poetic.”  
“It’s boring. You know what’s going to happen, everyone dies, or someone kills their wife or their husband or someone or other is a ghost. So why bother reading it?”  
“Dunno. They don’t have a lot of Muggle books in the library.”  
“Why’re you reading regular books anyway?”  
“Curiosity, I suppose. Muggles aren’t bad writers.”  
“I never got to read much.” Harry said, and left the conversation at that, putting on his shoes and making his way back to the castle, alone.  
-  
Harry sat in bed, wondering if Malfoy was where he’d left him at the Lake. He thought about the few times he’d asked to go to the library. “That garbage’ll melt your brain,” Vernon had said, “You’ve got better things to be doing.” So Harry had never gone.  
Harry had never done a lot of things. He’d never learned how to ride a bike. He’d tried to, once, before anyone had woken up, but Dudley’s bike was too tall for him and he couldn’t balance the thing when he tried. Harry had never learned how to swim. He’d never gotten the chance. He had learned a lot of other things though, he supposed. He could cook, he could certainly clean, and he liked to think he was decent at mending his own clothes. If anyone had noticed any of the crooked stitches in his regular clothes, no one had said anything about it.  
-  
It was an unsettling thing, to be thinking constantly about dying and yet not thinking about it at all. There were all the times he’d nearly been killed, and all the times he wished he had been. These two things overlapped, though it seemed that if it were a venn diagram, the circle for every time he wished he were dead was bigger. Or perhaps a pie chart would be a better example, he thought. Nevertheless, Harry thought a lot about his own death, how many times he’d escaped it, and how many times he often thought to embrace it. Wouldn’t it be a shame if The Boy Who Lived died? Would everyone make it a big deal like they made everything else in his life, or would they quickly find a new martyr? Harry wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to think too much about it.  
-  
Sometimes Harry wondered what it would be like to be drunk. He was always filling his aunt and uncle’s wine glasses at dinner, or he would see Vernon drinking a beer after work. He thought about the times that Vernon smelled so much like alcohol when he breathed in Harry’s face that his nose would burn. He knew what it was like to see his aunt and uncle drunk (though Petunia only really drank hard on weekends), and he’d seen Dudley sneak a rare sip of wine – Harry himself had once taken a sip out of a nearly-empty beer bottle Vernon had fallen asleep on the couch with once. He hadn’t liked the taste.  
-  
The first task would be coming soon.  
“What are you going to do?” Malfoy asked, walking up to Harry and sitting down beside him, one of those nights at the Lake.  
“Try not to die, I suppose. The usual.”  
“They haven’t told you anything at all?”  
“No.” Harry said, picking at the grass. “Why would they? No one tells anyone anything here.”  
“At Hogwarts you mean?” Draco looked over at Harry.  
“In all of this world of magic, no one ever seems to give anyone a straight answer. At least at home, with Muggles, they usually tell you what they want, and you do it, and that’s the end of it.” Harry tore a blade of grass in two, “Here you’ve got to listen to the dips and curves of what people mean underneath all their nonsense words, and you’ve got to hope you know what you’re doing, and hope for the best.”  
“It’s not like that at home? It’s more…predictable?”  
“In a way, yeah.”  
Draco looked down at his hands. “What’s it like? Living with Muggles?”  
“Well, they hate magic.” Harry looked over at Draco, who’s eyes widened.  
“Hate magic?” He seemed disgusted that anyone could ever hate magic, or a world that he’s a part of. “Are they jealous of you, then?”  
“I suppose. They don’t like me having power that they don’t have.”  
“Muggles are strange.” Draco laid down in the grass, looking up at the stars and closing his eyes.  
“Yeah.” Harry said. “They are.” He laid down next to Draco and looked at the constellations. The sky was clear tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! I might upload the next chapter tomorrow if all goes well. I'm getting the hang of writing their relationship, I haven't written fanfic in a long time so bear with me haha. Next chapter is going to be quite long (at least for me lol). As always, please leave me a comment letting me know your thoughts! They keep me encouraged to keep writing and mean so much more than you know <3


	6. i'll teach you how to swim under the light of the moon

One night instead of going to the Lake, Harry had gone out to see Hagrid. He knew the first task now: dragons. He supposed he’d stop by the Lake on his way back, he still had his cloak with him. And of course, Draco was there, looking lost as he stared at the lake water. 

“Can I sit?” Harry asked, taking off his cloak and sitting down next to Draco before the other boy could answer. “I know the first task.” 

“You think you’ll make it?” 

“I think so.” 

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” 

“And not keep you in suspense? Please.” Harry turned to Draco and smiled sadly. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I hope so.” 

“Do you?” Harry looked up at the waning moon, “Do you actually hope so?” 

“Yeah.” Draco said quietly, staring at the moon’s reflection in the Lake, “I do.” 

“So, what are we then, friends now?” Harry asked.

“If you want to be, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Since when have you not been an asshole? I don’t get why you keep coming here, saying shit like how you want to be my friend.” 

“I’ve been a git, I know.” Draco said, “But I think I know why you come to the Lake.” Harry felt alarmed for a split second. He hadn’t told Draco the gory details of his life. How would he know? “You can get away from yourself. That’s why I keep coming, so I can think about someone who isn’t me.” 

“Bit narcissistic of you, thinking just about yourself.” Harry half-joked. 

“You know what I mean. I don’t have to think about my life or my problems – I can just sit in the dead of night with an open sky above me and an open lake in front of me. It just so happens I discovered I can do this because of you.” 

Harry sighed, and leaned back on his elbows, listening. The tree branches above them rustled in the night breeze. “Yeah, I do know what you mean.”

-  
It was weeks later, and Harry had done it – he’d taken on a dragon, he’d gotten the egg, he’d managed to do it all and he wasn’t even dead. Ron had stopped being such a prick too, realizing that he should’ve believed Harry. Who would _volunteer_ to nearly get killed by a dragon? Ron certainly wouldn’t. Hermione and Ron sat with Harry in the Gryffindor common room, celebrating with the rest of the house when they told Harry to open the egg. The scream was piercing, horrific, and Harry shut the thing as quickly as he’d opened it. He didn’t know what it meant. He only hoped that he would live through the second task if he didn’t figure it out in time.  
\- 

Luckily, Cedric had told him to take the egg to the bathroom, because Harry had told him before about the dragons. So, Harry did – he snuck out in the night to take a bath in the Prefects bathroom only to be laughed at by Moaning Myrtle as she tried to dive beneath the bath water to get a look at him. He opened the egg and heard its siren song, looked at the stained-glass window across from him of a beautiful mermaid, and left as quickly as he could manage. He needn’t be laughingstock for a ghost. 

-  
“You’ve figured it out this time, I can tell. You’re grinning a bit.” Draco said when Harry sat down beside him that same night. 

“Cedric may have given me a hint.” Harry replied. He was still holding the egg. 

“Are you going to tell me what the task is this time or are you going to keep it a secret again?” 

“I know mermaids are involved.” Harry said. 

“You’re going to have to go into the Lake then, I’m guessing. They’ve got mermaids living in there.” 

“How’d you know that?”

“Slytherin common room is in the dungeons, yeah? We’ve got a big window looking out at the lake. The mermaids like to scare the first years.” Draco smiled. “They’re rather good at it, too.” 

“I can’t swim.” Harry said. “I never learned.” 

Draco looked at him, it almost looked like he was worried, “You can’t swim?” 

“No, but there ought to be a spell for that, right?” 

Draco shook his head, “That’s like having a spell for walking. No, you’re going to have to learn to swim.” 

“From who? And where?” 

“We’re at a lake, aren’t we? I can teach you.” 

Harry looked bewildered, “ _You?_ Really? Like, right now?”

“Sure,” Draco stood, “why not?” He was in his pajamas. They were both in their pajamas. “We can use a drying charm,” Draco said, “quit worrying. Honestly.” Draco looked around at where they were. “We ought to go deeper into the Forest a bit, the water’s not deep enough here unless you get quite far from the shore. Come on.” 

And that night Harry found himself following Draco Malfoy through the woods so that he could learn how to swim. 

-  
“This doesn’t make any sense, Malfoy.” Harry flapped his arms uselessly in the water, keeping his feet planted firmly in the mud. The water wasn’t even up to his shoulders. “Can’t I just like…doggy paddle or something?” 

“The mermaids don’t come this close to shore, idiot. If you said this task includes the mermaids, you’re going to have to swim.” Draco said sternly. He was farther out in the water, though not by much. He dived beneath the water and made his way back to Harry, popping up right in front of the smaller boy. He held back the urge to splash Harry in the face. 

“Maybe the clue just meant the task had to do with water, I mean, maybe it isn’t that direct.” 

“You just don’t want to do this.” 

“Damn right I don’t! I’ve got no clue what’s in this water. There could be some kind of magical jellyfish or something in here that’ll kill me.” Harry threw his hands up, slightly exasperated. 

Draco laughed, “That’s ridiculous. Firstly, because even if there were magical jellyfish, they’d be in the ocean, they’re saltwater creatures, Potter, goodness. And secondly, the only thing you’ve got to worry about killing you are the mermaids, and they probably know about the task already, so I don’t think they’ll _actually_ kill you.” 

“I didn’t think you could do it.” Harry said, forcing a straight face. 

“Do what?” 

“Laugh. Isn’t it like a Malfoy family gene to always look angry?” 

“I do _not_ always look angry.” Draco splashed the smallest amount of water onto Harry’s chest, “I’m perfectly capable of laughing.” 

“Sure, and I know how to swim.” 

“Well you’re not going to learn if you stay above the water like that!” Draco said, taking hold of Harry’s arm. Harry looked down – it was the arm Vernon had broken ten years before, the one they’d never gotten properly fixed. It was slightly crooked. Malfoy was holding right where the bone had fractured. He didn’t seem to notice. “Come with me.” Malfoy said, pulling Harry deeper into the water. 

“I –” 

“You’re not going to drown, Potter. We’re friends now, aren’t we?” 

“I guess.” 

“Then let me teach you how to swim, you git.” Draco led Harry further out into the water until it was up to Harry’s chin. “Now just go beneath the water, and if you need to go back up, just squeeze my arm, and I’ll take you back to the shallows.” 

Draco dove beneath the surface of the water, when Harry finally started to use his other arm to go against the water. He kicked his feet. He was slow, and clumsy, but he was doing it. Draco went up for  
breath. Harry gasped for air a bit. He was used to holding his breath somewhat, sure, but not under water. He kicked his feet quickly to keep himself above the surface. 

“You were starting to do it a bit.” Draco smiled at him. “We can stop for tonight though, if you want to. It’s pretty late and, well, you’re not used to swimming. You’ll be more tired than usual.” 

“Fine, we can go back to the shore, but I’m going to do it properly, with my head underwater.” 

“Keep hold of me, just in case.” 

“Maybe I’ll be better at it with two arms, Malfoy.” 

“Just do it.” Malfoy laughed, “I can’t have people thinking I tried to drown the great Harry Potter.” 

Harry took hold of Draco’s arm, “Fine then.” He dove beneath the water and started to swim. Draco steered him back to shore, and was certainly faster, but they made it nonetheless, and Harry was at least able to hold his breath for nearly 20 seconds at a time. 

Draco charmed them both clean and dry when they made it back to land. “That sucked.” Harry said. 

Draco put his hands on his hips, “It would be nicer to have a pool, I’ll admit. I’m not a huge fan of mud.”

“And yet here you are.” Harry said.

“Here I am.” said Draco. 

They walked back to the castle together. 

-  
Hermione was on him as soon as he told her about the mermaids. He didn’t mention his lackluster swimming skills. “If you’re going to be going that deep, you won’t be able to hold your breath that long! The mermaids are down at the bottom of the lake!” Hermione exclaimed. “Ron,” She turned to the redhead sitting with them at the library, “what do you think we should do?” 

“Get him some spell to hold his breath or something, obviously.” 

“Well, duh,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “but it wouldn’t be that simple. It’s a challenge, Harry’s going to have to do more than just swim to the bottom of the lake to visit with the mermaids.”

“What you think he’ll have to fight them, too?” 

“Of course not,” Hermione opened up another book, “they live here. They’ll probably be protecting something though, like the dragons were. I think Harry would just have to get past them.” 

“That sounds a lot like he’d have to fight them.” 

Harry finally chipped in, “Technically, I didn’t _fight_ the dragon, I just strategically avoided it –” 

“Harry, mate, how do you plan on distracting a mermaid? They’re smarter than dragons. They’re just fish people.” 

Hermione punched Ron’s arm, “Don’t call them fish people! It’s rude.”  
Ron shrugged, “Alright then, ‘Mione. What do you suggest?” 

-  
“Are you up for another swimming lesson? Or do you just want to sit tonight?” Draco asked. 

“Just sit, I think. I’m still tired.” Harry was sitting beside Draco beneath their regular tree. “I mean, I’m always tired, but, you know, more so than usual.” 

“My mother sent me a letter.” Draco said quietly. 

“What?” Harry looked at the blond. Draco’s eyes were silver. Harry had never noticed before. “What was it about?” 

“My father.” 

“Ah. I should’ve guessed. What has your father heard of then?” Harry chuckled a little at his own reference to the blond’s titular phrase. 

“I don’t know. My mother wouldn’t say exactly. Her letters really don’t tell me much. Its just the way she writes them that makes me worry.” 

“Why’re you telling me this?” 

“Who else am I going to tell? Crabbe and Goyle? Please. The only friend of mine I might say anything to is Pansy, and she’s been terribly busy lately trying to get Millicent’s attention.” Harry didn’t ask what that meant. 

“I mean, I’m your friend. You’re telling me.” 

“Yeah, I am. I don’t know. It’s weird.” Draco rubbed his hands together. “I’m usually worried about her, somewhat, what with my father usually around, but she just seemed so much more…flighty.” 

“You worry about her when your father’s home?” That caught Harry’s attention. 

“No? Yes? Let’s just – forget I brought it up.” 

“Okay.” Harry said softly. If Draco wanted to tell him anything, he would. Harry wouldn’t force it. After all, he wasn’t telling Draco about his family, why should Draco tell Harry about his? 

-

Draco seemed to avoid Harry a bit the next two days. It wasn’t terribly noticeable – its not like they did anything different than they had before they’d started sitting at the Lake. They always had avoided each other – though the taunting was pretty much nonexistent, now. Everyone else was too busy with their own problems or talking about the Triwizard Tournament to notice anything different.  
Instead of looking over at the Gryffindor table, Draco would eat a little, quickly, before leaving the dining hall with Pansy. But its not like Harry was paying that much attention of course. Why would he? 

-  
The third day of Malfoy avoiding him, Harry went down to the lake just after dinner. He skipped a stone across the water. He’d given Ron and Hermione some bullshit excuse about a detention so that he could go the lake after dinner. He was tired of reading and researching and even _talking_ about the tournament now. He hadn’t wanted to be a part of it in the first place, and now it was just another thing he had to get through. 

Harry was still at the lake when Draco sat down next to him. “I’m sorry.” Malfoy said. 

“What for?” Harry was somewhat shocked that Malfoy could even say the words I’m and sorry in the same sentence, but it seemed Malfoy kept surprising him lately. 

“For ditching you. With everything going on. I did promise to teach you how to swim.” 

“S’okay, honestly.” said Harry. He was looking out at the water, orange in the glow of the sunset. “I’ve been practicing anyway.” 

“You could’ve drowned!” 

“Nah. I stuck to the shallows for the most part. Besides,” Harry said, “I didn’t know if you were coming back.” 

“Well I’m here now.” Draco’s eyes were the strangest color at sunset – silvery and orange both at the same time. It was like looking at Christmas lights. 

“Why’d you leave in the first place?” Harry asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t – he didn’t even know if it was his place to ask. 

“Felt weird, I don’t know. I don’t usually…talk about myself.” Draco rubbed his hands together. “I mean, I talk about myself, yes, but not really if that makes sense. I don’t know I just – it felt weird to talk about it, especially with – well, especially with you.” Draco turned his gaze away from Harry, to look at the trees. 

“I’m not gonna judge you if that’s what you’re thinking.” Harry studied Draco’s hair. It was almost fiery in the setting sun. 

“Why not? You’ve every right to. I’ve been a dick to you since the beginning of school and we’re only talking now because for some reason we both decided to come to the Lake at night. Plus, I mean, you’re Harry Potter and –” 

“I don’t like going home either, Malfoy. I’m not judging you.” Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked down. If Malfoy was lying about being his friend, now would be the time for him to laugh. But he didn’t. 

“I never said that I…” Draco turned back around to look at Harry, who was already small, making himself smaller by curling his body in on itself as much as possible. “You don’t have to tell me about it, if you don’t want to.” 

“Not today, I don’t think.” said Harry, “It’s a bit much, and I’ve got to go back to the dorm before bedtime. Everyone’s been talking to me again; I can’t have them worry. I told them I have detention with Snape.” 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Draco asked as Harry went to stand.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So it might be awhile before the next update - I'm trying to make these chapters longer and I also have quite a bit of schoolwork lol. I'm sorry for skimming over the first task, but it wasn't really relevant to this fic's plot (as I'm mostly focusing on Harry's relationship with his trauma as well as his relationships with other people) and to be honest, I don't really enjoy writing action scenes lol. I'm kind of using this fic to work through my own relationship with childhood trauma so that's going to be this fic's main focus, honestly.  
> I'd like to give a big thank you to every single person who's commented so far! You all have no idea how wonderful it makes me feel to hear your praise and excitement over a little story I've written.  
> I'm still working on the next chapter, and I hope to get more writing done soon, but I can't make any promises as to when the next update will be - hopefully soon though! I really hope you're all enjoying this story so far :) Also, I formatted this chapter a little differently because I didn't like how the other chapters look on mobile, so hopefully everything still looks okay formatting-wise!  
> Comments and kudos mean the world! <3  
> (Also, I've realized I never introduced myself lol. My name is Nicky!)


	7. every night i think of you

“You really need to get some sleep, Harry.” Hermione said at breakfast. “You’ve been looking tired a lot lately, but you’ve got awful dark circles now!”   
Ron looked over at Harry and clapped his shoulder, “She’s right, mate, you look awful.” 

“Ron!” Hermione gave the redhead a dirty look, “You don’t have to say it like that.” 

“Right, of course,” said Ron, “Harry, you look like you’ve been in a tussle with a dementor.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Harry forced a laugh and a smile, as genuine as he could make them, “I’m just stressed about the Tournament is all.” 

“You ought to go to the hospital wing, Harry, I’m sure Madame Pomfrey could get you some Sleeping Draught if it’s keeping you up.” Hermione took a bite of her eggs. “You’re not gonna survive the Second Task if you can’t stay awake!” 

“I’m fine, guys, honestly. I just need to catch up on my sleep this weekend I suppose.” 

-  
Of all the places for Rita Skeeter to pull him aside and interview him, she’d chosen a broom closet. Which was already uncomfortable of course, with Harry having to sit in such close proximity to the reporter, forced to breathe in the smell of her terrible flowery perfume mixed with the dust in the closet. Harry sneezed a few times. There’s also the fact of how much a broom closet is like a cupboard, and Harry’s immediate reaction of being grabbed and shoved into a small space is to _get out get out get out_ but he couldn’t do a thing, with Skeeter’s long nails pressing into the thin skin of his upper arm and sitting him down opposite of her so that she could drill him about everything he’d ever said or done, everything about his parents, about students and teachers. Her quill wrote down on parchment at rapid speed beside her. Harry just kept talking, feeling increasingly sick to his stomach. He hoped that once he said enough, she’d let him go. He hadn’t been in that cupboard since he’d come back the summer after first year, when the Dursley’s had finally let him have Dudley’s second bedroom. He had hated going near the stupid cupboard every day as he made his way to the kitchen to make breakfast. And here he was, hardly able to stand up straight even with his short stature, in a broom closet with a venomous woman who had a tight grip. When he was finally able to get out of the closet, Harry leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.  
-

Harry hadn’t thought he’d ever take dancing lessons. Yet here he was, with all the other Gryffindor boys, crowded in a classroom as Professor McGonagall taught them how to dance. Harry’s movements were clumsy; he moved either too slow or too fast. He was not a good dancer.

“Who’re you gonna ask to the Ball?” Ron asked him after class, “Merlin, who am I going to ask to the Ball?” 

Harry hoped Ron would figure it out for the both of them. He really didn’t want to garner any more attention than he already did. 

-

“You’re reading another normal book.” Harry remarked when he sat down next to Draco that night. 

“ _Pride and Prejudice_.” Draco confirmed. “I don’t know if I like it yet.” 

“Do you know who you’re taking to the Ball?” 

Draco smirked, “Are you asking me?” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, his cheeks warm. 

“I’m messing with you, Potter.” Draco laughed. “I’m taking Pansy. Millicent is still unawares of dear Pansy’s affections, so she’s stuck going with me for now.” 

“Pansy’s a lesbian?” Harry asked. 

Draco shrugged, “She hasn’t ever said it directly, but I think so, yeah.” 

“I always thought –” 

“Me and Pansy? Nah. I’ve just known her for a long time.” Draco smiled, “Who’re you taking to the Ball, Potter?” 

“Dunno yet.” Harry admitted. Draco closed his book and set it aside. 

“You could always take Granger. Though I’m sure any girl would love to have you.” 

“You haven’t seen my dancing skills.” Harry laughed. “I’m rather dreadful at it.” He ran a hand through his hair, only making it fluffier, “Besides it’d be weird to go with ‘Mione. She’s my friend but like…I dunno.” Harry gave Draco a weird look and shook his head slightly. “I’m just glad you’re not calling her that filthy word anymore.” 

“I –” Draco stuttered slightly. “I’ve been trying to…improve…with that.” 

“I mean, I’m glad and all, but why?” Harry asked him. 

“Well, Granger socked me in the nose last year and it was a bit of a wakeup call, I suppose.” Draco bit his lip and looked out at the Lake. “I grew up hearing all about Pureblood purity and my father using…that word so it was normal for me. And that’s awful, I know that now, so I’m trying to fix it. As for why…well,” Draco took a sharp breath. “I don’t quite like kids calling me a soon-to-be Death Eater. I know its not the same thing but…I don’t want to be thought of like that anymore. I just want to get through school normally, like anyone else.” He rubbed his hands together. “I figured the first step to becoming a better person was to well…be better. Its been weird, having to rewire what’s been so engrained into me from my father but…I like to think that I’m doing better – being better.” 

Harry looked at him. “I’m glad that you’re trying.” He said, crossing his arms. “You’re so different than how I thought you were.” 

“Still a prat, though?” 

“Oh, certainly.” 

-

_He sat in the bathtub. The bruises on his back had started to darken. There was still the taste of blood and metal in his mouth. He submerged his body wholly into the rose-colored water. He breathed out, bubbles floating to the surface. He reached up, gripped the sides of the tub with his scarred hands and pulled himself back up. He choked on bathwater. Harry pulled out the drainplug and watched as his watered-down blood made its way down the drain. He took a minute to stand, pressing onto the small of his back with one hand, keeping his balance holding onto the tub with the other.  
It was late. He was quiet, slowly wiping himself dry with a towel, wincing at the pressure. He grabbed the clothes he’d brought into the bathroom with him off the floor and got dressed. A large T-shirt, and pajama bottoms that he had to hold up to keep them around his waist. He put the towel in the laundry basket, and made his way back downstairs, ever so slowly, so as not to wake anyone up again. When he made it to the cupboard, he laid down on his side, holding the ratty blanket he had to his chest, and bit his tongue to keep from crying. _

-  
They managed to get dates to the ball – the Parvarti twins. The Ball was awful – Harry hardly talked to his date, Ron made Hermione cry, and Harry felt useless. It wasn’t just the embarrassment of having to dance in front of the whole school, it was everything about the standard he was being held to. He was fourteen, he was competing with a bunch of older kids for a stupid Tournament he didn’t want to be a part of, and everyone had their eye on him while he managed to fuck up. 

He didn’t really care about the date, or the Ball, just about what it meant. If he couldn’t do _this_ , if he could hardly handle being dragged into a broom closet for an interview without freaking out, how was he going to handle fighting Voldemort? He knew he’d have to, eventually. Magic was going to kill him after all, and he was sure that Voldemort would be the one to do it. Harry wasn’t expecting to make it to adulthood. At least with the Tournament, maybe a mermaid would kill him before Voldemort did. Then the bastard wouldn’t get the satisfaction of taking down the one person he hadn’t been able to kill. 

-  
He was at the Lake, still in his suit from the dance. It was a cold night, but he’d warmed himself with a charm. It should be snowing someday soon. Harry sat with his head in his hands and took deep breaths, in and out. He knew Draco was there before the blond even said a word. “Stalking me now, are you?” 

“Nah, I saw you leave. Granger and Weasley looked all upset, and you kinda left them and disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Draco sat down next to him. “I dunno if you want to talk about it. You don’t have to. I just figured I’m come just in case.” He took a sharp breath, “I can go though, if – if you want me to.” 

“That’s okay. You can stay.” Harry lifted his head and looked at the blonde. 

“Rough night then?” Draco asked. 

“You could say so.” 

Draco cast a warming charm on himself. “It’s going to snow soon.” He said. 

“Yeah.” said Harry. 

“My mother hasn’t written me back.” Draco met Harry’s eyes. Silver to green. 

“Are you worried?” 

Draco’s lip trembled. “Yes.” He admitted. He rubbed his hands together. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing we can do.” Draco murmured, “I just thought I’d tell you.” 

They sat in silence for a long time. 

-

The water was cold, and he’d had to swallow a disgusting amount of gillyweed, but Harry was in the water, and he was swimming. The swimming lessons had paid off. He wasn’t fast, but he was able, and he made his way through the murky water until he saw flashes of green scales. The mermaids followed him, with their giant eyes and razor-like teeth, and hands elongated like claws. He made it through. He managed to get Ron and the girl with the white hair – Fleur’s sister, he’d come to find out. He made the points, despite going overtime. He might not lose this Tournament after all. 

-

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Draco said when Harry walked up to him that night. 

“Well, thanks I guess.” 

“It was brave, saving them both.” Draco’s arms were crossed. His hands gripped his elbows. 

“I don’t think they would’ve let Fleur’s sister die.” 

“Still,” Draco said. “It was more than most people would do.” They sat down. The grass was cold. It would snow tomorrow, it was inevitable. “What are you going to do?” 

“What?” Harry asked, surprised. 

“About the snow? You’ll have to find somewhere else, unless you’re perfectly comfortable with sitting in wet snow for hours at night.” 

“Oh.” Harry shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

Draco rubbed his hands together. “Pansy told me once about a place in the forest.” He looked away from Harry. “She said the weather doesn’t affect part of the woods, because of the unicorns or something.” 

“Want to find it?” Harry asked. 

“Really?” Draco turned back to Harry. 

“Yeah.” Harry smiled. “Why not?” 

They made their way through the woods, wands lit up in their hands. Harry grinned. “You know there’s a giant spider living in here right?” 

Draco had never turned around so quickly, “What?” 

“Yeah, Ron and I found it second year. We escaped in a flying car. The car wasn’t very happy about it, though we did crash it before. On accident.” 

“ _On accident?_ ” Draco exclaimed. “You crashed a flying car?” 

“Well, we weren’t able to make the train, you see. So we borrowed Mr. Weasley’s flying car. Just so happened that we managed to crash into the Whomping Willow. Later second year we went into the forest, investigating about the whole Chamber business, and there was the car. We nearly got eaten by a whole gang of giant spiders, you know.” 

“Potter – and I’m asking this genuinely – what the _fuck_?” 

“Every school year I nearly die, at least second year involved a flying car, you know?” Harry shrugged, smiling a little at Draco’s absolute bewilderment. 

“So you decide to tell me about this group of spiders _now_ , when we are actively going through the Forbidden Forest, and –” Draco tripped over a tree root. Harry grabbed his arm before he fell, and pulled him back to his feet. “You are such an asshole.” Draco said, “but you better tell me the rest of this story.” 

“Sure,” Harry grinned as they made it into a small clearing. The space in the clearing seemed to be at a standstill. The grass was green and soft, no fallen leaves crunched beneath their feet. They couldn’t see any unicorns, but whatever Pansy had told Draco about a clearing seemed to be true. “Think you’ll be able to find your way here yourself, Malfoy?” 

Draco crossed his arms and frowned. “Of course I will, you git.” 

“It’s pretty late.” Harry said. “Want to head back?” 

“I suppose.” 

“I’ll see you here tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry, this chapter is coming later than I expected. I had a lot of schoolwork to do, plus I had a flare up from my chronic pain, so I've had a bit of a week if you know what I mean haha. I hope you're all doing well, and that you like this chapter! Please let me know what you think!! Comments mean the world to me <3


	8. hold my hand in the dark

Harry was wearing the sweater Mrs. Weasley had made him for Christmas. It was a little big on him, as all his clothes were, but the sweater was close enough of a fit, and he wouldn’t ever complain to Mrs. Weasley. It’s not like he got gifts from his own relatives. He pulled the sleeves down and held them in his palms, rubbing his fingers against the soft yarn. He’d worn the sweater to bed the night before. The other boys in the dorm were scattered about, down in the Common Room. Harry made his way into the bathroom to take a shower, alone. 

He took of the sweater, glancing briefly into his reflection, happy to find that he’d filled out a bit. His ribs were hardly visible now. He could still feel them easily, if he pressed his finger to his side, but they weren’t grotesquely protruding like they had over the summer. It wasn’t so much that the Dursley’s starved him but rather that he rarely got the chance to eat – at least this is what Harry told himself. He walked into one of the shower stalls, the water already magically warm for him. 

It was a pain, but he went over his body, inspecting it for anything that stood out too much. He’d done this for years. He hadn’t been able to leave the house when he looked like he’d been hit – he’d had to learn how to cover up. Now it was an impulse, to meticulously go over every inch of his body in search of bruises and scars. He ran a finger down the lightning scar on his forehead, a slight divot in his skin, tracing in multiple branches across his right eyebrow, stopping just below the brow bone. From his face, he ran his hands over each arm – the slight bend in his left arm a reminder of home. From there, to his chest, his back, his hips, legs and feet. Nothing out of place more so than usual, yet he was afraid something would come out of nowhere, and everyone would see it, and ask, and _know_. He lathered himself in soap and rinsed himself off as he spread shampoo into his hair. He turned to face the spray of water, mouth agape as he closed his eyes and let the water fall over him, like tiny bullets. He looked down at his hands. The slight scarring that Petunia had given him from the boiling soup was streaked across his left palm. He’d managed to ice himself enough that it had never been too bad – he’d still needed to do his chores, and he would’ve been punished more if he hadn’t done them because of his hand. His hand didn’t hurt anymore of course, but it served as another reminder of home and of what he would be free from while at school. He took a deep breath and sat down on the tile floor of the shower, and let the water run down his body. 

-

They were in the Forest. They were laying down, side by side, looking up into the trees. The stars were still visible, even through all the leaves. Draco didn’t seem to care too much about dirt anymore. 

“Why do you hate going home?” Draco asked him. 

“My family…” Harry started to say, sitting up. 

Draco sat up too, nervous, “You don’t have to tell me.” He said quickly. 

“I want to.” Harry said softly. “But not yet. Not tonight.” Green met silver. Harry took a sharp breath. “Let’s just pretend everything is normal.” 

So Draco was left wondering about Harry’s family, and he wondered if Harry’s family was anything like his. 

-

It was a new moon that next night. Harry was telling Draco about Professor Lupin, the time-turner, and the adventure of saving Buckbeak. He told Draco about Sirius Black being his godfather, and how Peter Pettigrew had escaped that night. 

“I don’t know how you manage to do all these things.” Draco said when Harry finished his story. “First the Philosopher’s Stone, then the Chamber, and then everything last year – I’m sorry about being a dick last year, by the way – but how do you even do it?” 

Harry shook his head, smiling a bit. “It just seems to be what comes with being Harry Potter.” 

“What’s it like?” Draco asked. 

“To be me?” They were sitting face to face on the Forest floor, each of them sitting with their legs crossed, their wands lit up beside them. Harry rubbed his neck, “Honestly, I’d rather be normal. Normal for a wizard at least. It’s not super fun to almost die every year.” 

“I’m sorry I spent so much time being a jerk to you.” 

Harry laughed, “Moody turned you into a ferret, and getting to see that kinda makes up for it.” 

“Hey!” Draco frowned, “I was hoping you would never bring that up!” 

“We’re friends now, Draco, I think I should be allowed to laugh at you getting turned into a ferret.” 

“Not when I got smacked on the ground!” Draco exclaimed. Then he did a double take. “Hey, that’s the first time you’ve said my name.” 

“I say your name all the time, Malfoy.” 

“You know what I mean. My first name.” 

Harry shrugged. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Can’t I say it?” 

Draco’s eyes were ever-so slightly wide. Like tiny silver moons, his eyes shone in the light of their wands. “You – of course you can say my name…Harry.” He said. “It’s just weird. I dunno. But I like it, I think.” 

Harry blinked, smiling softly. “Me too.” 

-

Draco came into the woods the next night, exasperated, his face paler than usual, a piece of parchment in his hands. Harry was already there, waiting. He stood when he saw the state of Draco. “My mother wrote me.” The blond said. “She told me not to write her back. She –” 

Harry shushed him, took Draco by the arm and sat them both down. “Breathe.” Harry told him. Draco did, in and out, until he could compose himself enough to speak. 

“She didn’t _tell_ me anything – she never does, but she told me not to write her back and I feel like I’ve somehow gotten her into trouble.” He spoke quickly, his voice shaky, “My father is always reading the mail, I don’t know how, but I must’ve said something to upset him – she must be angry with me, if I’ve gotten her into trouble with him –” 

“Draco, slow down. Please.” Harry still held onto the other boy’s arm. “Just breathe for a minute. It’s okay.” 

“But it’s not!” Draco protested. “He must’ve done something to her – to tell me to stop writing, I –” Harry squeezed his arm, ever so slightly, and with some hesitation, leaned forward and took Draco in both of his arms. It was awkward, hugging while sitting down, Harry sort of leaning up on his knees to hold his arms around Draco while the blond bit his tongue to keep himself from crying. Malfoys don’t cry. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Harry said softly into Draco’s hair. “But you’re going to be okay. I’m with you.” 

Draco clutched Harry’s shirt like he was holding on for dear life. “Okay.” He whispered, closing his eyes. “Thank you.” 

It took a half hour to get Draco to fully calm down. Draco had folded up the letter and put it into his pocket – he didn’t show it to Harry. They were sitting next to one another now, Draco looking at the grass and Harry looking at Draco. 

“My family,” Harry began. “They aren’t good people.” 

Draco opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it as Harry continued. 

“Every day they would remind me that they didn’t want me – that I was just a baby dumped on their doorstep.” He took a breath. “I didn’t learn about magic until I finally got my letter for school. And my family tried everything they could to keep me from finding out. When I finally got here, I was so happy. People here were excited to see me, and it was this whole new world! I was never allowed out much as a kid, and suddenly I find out that I’m able to do all these things, in a place that seems so unreal. My first year was mostly fun, until the first attempt at my murder. Well, I suppose it was technically the second attempt Voldemort made on my life. But then it happened again second year. Third year, I suppose it wasn’t Voldemort directly, but either way, I nearly died again. This year I’ve already had my life at risk twice. Every day I wonder if I would be better off at home, I wonder what would be worse. But then, I suppose I keep coming here for a reason, either out of a sense of guilt – I’m the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy after all, they wouldn’t let me get away, and I don’t know if I would feel right in leaving it all behind. But still I’m left contemplating which is worse. I’ve come to think home is worse. At least I have people to talk to here, and some sense of freedom. I don’t have that at home.” Harry finished. Draco reached out for Harry’s hand. Harry took it. 

“My father,” Draco’s hands were soft. Harry’s were so rough. “I’m afraid of him.” Draco looked down at their hands. He couldn’t look Harry in the eyes. “I shouldn’t be. But I am. He’s only hit me a couple times, and never enough to really leave a mark, but there’s this way that his voice will shake when he’s angry – and I get so scared that he’ll hurt me. I’ve watched him throw things, punch a wall – all things easily repaired with magic, but I remember watching the vase crack, and the wall crumble inward. I remember the sound of his hand breaking against a cabinet. I remember his face when he slapped me across the face last summer. And I shouldn’t be scared of him, but I am, and I can’t help but be afraid.” 

“Draco,” Harry spoke, his voice so, so quiet, “You’re allowed to be afraid of your father. He’s not a good person. I’m afraid of my family too – they’re not good people. You don’t have to love him because he’s your father. You don’t have to force yourself to feel a way that you don’t feel. If you’re afraid, you’re afraid, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“I’m sorry your family is awful to you Harry.” 

“Don’t apologize to me for something neither of us can fix. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Harry squeezed his hand. 

-

How sad was it, he thought, that his happiest memory was the first time he rode a broom? His happiest memory didn’t involve anyone else, because he avoided it. He had his friends, of course, but he kept them at a distance, still. He didn’t tell them about his family. He hadn’t told anyone until Draco had come freaking out to him in the Forest. He felt naked. He felt like he was home, and Vernon had ripped off the collar of his shirt to pull him into the study, a belt in his hand. Harry had never felt so exposed in his life, after telling someone out loud about his family – and he hadn’t even said that much. He hadn’t mentioned his broken arm, or the boiling soup, the lashings, the cupboard…

He thought back to last year, to how happy he’d been when he’d though that he’d seen his father across the lake from him and Sirius, casting the stag Patronus, only to find out it’d been him. And while he was glad he was able to produce a Patronus at all, glad he’d been able to save himself and Sirius both, he couldn’t help but feel the crushing disappointment of not really seeing his father. He missed his parents, even if he couldn’t remember them. He remembered the Mirror of Erised form first year, pictured his parents standing behind him, their hands on his shoulders, smiling and proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're finally starting to open up more to each other...more will come, though. I'm thinking of extending this fic past 4th year, MAYBE writing the rest of the series?? I don't know, but if you guys would like that let me know! I have some ideas in the works if I do. I wrote this chapter in a bit of a frenzy last night, so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes I missed in editing. Also sorry that this chapter is short! I'm hoping to write longer chapters in the future but we'll see lol.  
> Comments mean the world! <3


	9. who is he if not a savior

Harry Potter had damaged hands. It wasn’t noticeable at a glance, but if you took a longer look, it was there. On his left hand he had a scar on the skin between his thumb and finger, and his palm had a rough texture from the burns, courtesy of Petunia. On his right, his knuckles had healed over many times from being lashed. On both hands his fingernails had been gnawed just above the quick. He didn’t like to make himself bleed, but he couldn’t help biting his nails. 

It’s difficult, avoiding your hands. Avoiding your body, really. Harry didn’t like to change his clothes, he didn’t like showering, but he didn’t like suspicion either. What would people think if he was always moping around in the same clothes, looking a wreck? Sure, his hair was usually messy anyway, but he didn’t want anyone to start noticing anything… _off_. He didn’t like to think that people would think of him as being off in some way. Still, he didn’t like them idolizing him either.

Taking a break from quidditch for the year because of the Tournament was odd though. Despite having to be in a locker room (he’d always tried to get there first…or last) and despite having to grip his broom so tightly it irritated the skin on his already damaged palms, he did enjoy it. Maybe it was the magic of the game, or the feeling of flying; being above the ground and away from everyone else – from anything else. In the sky he was not Harry Potter, he was a player in a much smaller game – all he had to do was grab the Snitch. And then he would win, simple as that. 

-

“How’d your name even get into the Goblet anyway?” Draco asked. It was warm in their secret alcove, but if they looked out around them far enough, they could see the snow that covered the rest of the Forest. Draco had come to the clearing wearing his scarf and a coat but took them off and set them down like a pillow beside him. He laid down in the grass, peeking over at Harry. 

“Dunno. It’s probably got something to do with Voldemort, I expect. But I don’t know.” Harry was fiddling with his wand, transfiguring a twig into a beetle, just for the sake of it. 

“How can you say his name like that?” 

“How am I supposed to face a murderer if I can’t even say his name?” Harry looked up from the ground, and _Lumos_ -ed his wand. It was dark, even under all those stars. 

Draco looked at him sideways. “You’re right. There’s power in names.” 

“You would know.” 

“Yeah, I would. But so would you. I’m a Malfoy and you’re the Harry Potter.” Draco paused. “It’s still weird to hear his name out loud like that though. Especially with how nonchalantly you say it.” 

“I’m getting used to his attempts on my life. He’s not going to stop. And I’m not going to waste my time being scared of him. He wants me dead, but he doesn’t hate me for any reason other than he couldn’t kill me. It’s not personal for him, not really.” Harry went back to looking at the grass. 

“Isn’t it personal for you though? He...you know.” 

“Killed my parents. Yes, it’s personal from my end. But I don’t see Voldemort as a person either, so it’s a bit weird, I suppose.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of him though?” 

“I’m afraid of dying. It doesn’t matter who does it.” 

-

The third task was coming up soon. 

Harry was in the Common Room. It was evening, the fireplace was warm, and Harry and his friends were on the floor in front of it, doing their homework. Harry was lying on his stomach, head propped on one hand while the other was mindlessly scribbling nonsense for a Charms essay. Ron and Hermione were squabbling over something or another – probably Ron trying to get some homework answers out of Hermione so that he wouldn’t have to open his textbook. Harry wondered what Draco was doing. He supposed he could ask him later that night. 

-

“It’s been months. I haven’t written her, and she hasn’t written me.” Draco said. 

“I would tell you that she’s fine, but I can’t promise that.” said Harry, cringing inwardly as soon as he’d said it. What he’d said was hardly comforting. 

“I’d rather you told me she was fine.” Draco didn’t meet Harry’s gaze, instead inspecting the dirt on his shoes. Of course. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No. You’re right,” said Draco. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

-

The third task was coming up soon. 

Harry was worried. Or as worried as he seemed to ever get about these kinds of things. He’d written to Sirius the week before, and his godfather had started sending him owls daily. Harry was working on spells with Ron and Hermione, getting ready for the third task. As with the previous two tasks, he just hoped that he wouldn’t die. 

-

It was Draco’s birthday. Harry hadn’t been able to get him anything, with everything going on. and Draco had only mentioned his birthday offhandedly a few days before. Harry wasn’t sure if he even _should_ get Draco anything. Its not like he could make the other boy a present, either. 

Draco didn’t seem to mind though. He didn’t acknowledge his birthday that night until he asked Harry about his own. Harry told Draco that his birthday wasn’t until the end of July, and they spent the rest of the night discussing everything that wasn’t the Tournament. 

-

It was the night before the third task and Harry was nervous. He’d been nervous before every task, but this one, more so. It would be the last one, and he’d made it so far (with a surprising amount of points!) and he really hoped he’d make it through. He felt he probably wouldn’t die at least; Ron and Hermione had been on top of him with keeping track of useful spells. 

Harry sat in the clearing in the Forest, practicing what spells that he could on his own. 

Draco walked into the clearing and sat down next to Harry. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose (a habit, as they’d always been a little too big) and replied, “As okay as always.” 

“That’s not very reassuring.” 

Harry shrugged. “I’ll live.” 

“Please do that for me at least.” Draco said. Harry wasn’t sure what Draco meant by that. 

“How are you?” Harry asked instead. 

“Fine. Worried.” Draco looked at Harry. “Don’t die tomorrow.” 

“I can’t promise that.” Harry chuckled softly. 

“You’re so dark.” Draco said.

“Says you, Slytherin Prince.” Harry said, not-quite mockingly. “You always look like you’re brooding. I just look stupid.” 

“You don’t look stupid.” Harry turned to give Draco a deadpan look. “Okay, you look tired, but I don’t think you look stupid.” Draco said. “People probably just think you’re stressed and – wait. I do not look like I’m brooding _all_ the time, do I?”

“You definitely do.” Harry laughed. “You always look like you’re frowning.” 

“I do not!” 

“Hm. Maybe. But most of the time you’re all dark and angry looking.” 

“This is slander to my name.” 

“Doesn’t your whole family look all blond and brooding though?” 

Draco laughed, “Maybe. But you don’t have to be so honest about it!” He smiled. “I don’t seriously look like an asshole all the time, do I?” 

Harry shook his head. “Nah. You just look like you.” 

“…And that means?” 

“Exactly what I said. Come on then, I need to get some sleep before tomorrow.” Harry was still grinning as they got to their feet, making their way back to the Castle. At the edge of the Forest Draco paused. 

“Harry.” Draco said. He was looking down. “In all seriousness, good luck tomorrow.” Then, ever so quickly he leaned in the hug Harry, who took the taller boy into his arms. The moon was shining. Draco had his hands resting on Harry’s back. When they pulled apart, it was a silent question: _Can I kiss you?_

Draco brushed his lips against Harry’s cheek, and hurried back to the Castle, leaving the younger wizard wondering what had just happened. 

-  
It’d been jarring. He didn’t know what it meant or what really to think of it. And he wouldn’t get the chance to ask.  
-

He and Cedric had both grasped the handle of the Triwizard Cup. And then Harry’s scar was burning, and then a green light and Cedric was nothing more than a limp body in front of him and Harry thought he was screaming but he couldn’t be sure. He was slammed into a giant tombstone (with Tom Riddle’s fucking name on it) by Wormtail. The bastard shoved black cloth into Harry’s mouth, effectively muffling his screams before he disappeared. 

Harry couldn’t move, tied to the headstone he couldn’t move, could only stare at Cedric’s body lying not twenty yards from him, both of their wands and the Triwizard cup beside him. Then Wormtail dragged a cauldron in front of him, a snake – Nagini – circling the tombstone. The rest was hazy – the grave beneath Harry’s feet cracked open, and Wormtail cut off his own hand at the wrist. The sound of his flesh tearing, cutting into the bone – and the soft thud of his dismembered hand falling into the cauldron. Harry squeezed his eyes shut; he didn’t want to see this. He couldn’t see this. He shouldn’t. And then Wormtail slid the sharp end of the knife against Harry’s arm, and his skin felt like it was burning, and he could hear Wormtail muttering, _blood of the enemy, blood of the enemy._ He couldn’t keep his eyes shut against the pain, and he knew what was going to happen next, as soon as Wormtail said the word _resurrect._

The cauldron bubbled and Harry felt blood continue to seep from the cut in his arm. His right arm. Almost exactly in the same spot as the break in his left and he wondered if that made his punishment even. The cauldron shone with blinding white light, and the being that had haunted Harry for years emerged as a man, his red eyes shining. Voldemort had finally risen again.  
The rest was hazy. Death Eaters flooded the graveyard and Harry felt Voldemort press a cold finger against his scar. Harry’s head was on fire and he was sure that he had never screamed so loudly except for once before. Even gagged, his shrieks echoed through the graveyard. His speech was endless, a hissed drawl that wouldn’t cease until he raised his wand. _Crucio._ Harry’s body, possessed, jerking and broken and painful, his eyes rolled back into his skull and he was sure he would be dead. But he could hear their laughter. And then Harry was holding his wand again, and Voldemort was telling Harry to bow, and there was nothing but the feeling of his flesh being pulled apart pore by pore as they fought. Harry saw Cedric, and his parents, and the light surrounding them was golden and Harry felt as though he would go deaf from the sound of the Death Eaters, laughing and screeching like banshees at the sight. And then it was over, and Harry was running for the Cup – the Portkey – holding tight to Cedric’s body as the air around him screamed.  
-  
Harry’s arm was still bleeding, and he felt numb and cold and hot all at once and everyone around him was screaming and Cedric’s parents – they were yelling and they took his body from Harry’s trembling arms and the next thing Harry knew he was in the hospital wing and he couldn’t answer anyone’s questions even if he’d wanted to. Hermione and Ron visited him, caught him up to speed. Hermione proudly told him that she’d caught Rita Skeeter in a jar – she’d been an unlicensed animagus, apparently – and Ron told him about Cedric’s parents. Harry wasn’t listening, not really. The schoolyear would end that week, and thank God, because Harry wasn’t sure he felt safe at Hogwarts at all anymore. If he could be transported away just like that, tortured, maimed…he wasn’t safe at Hogwarts or at home and yet he knew no alternative. He couldn’t ask Sirius. He wouldn’t let himself be pitied, despite his situation.  
By the end of the week, Harry was home, and the Dursleys were the same as they always were, brash, awful, and demanding. Harry swept the floors and wondered how soon it would be until Voldemort tried to kill him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be entirely honest, I don't like this chapter, I'm not happy with it. :( But i'm done fussing over it because I want to keep this story going, but I'm sorry if it sucks anyway. I'm uploading another chapter tonight though, and I like that one much better haha. I hope you're all doing well. I've been slammed with schoolwork and have been dealing with some minor health issues, but I'm okay! Thanks as always for reading! Comments mean the world <3


	10. summer interlude: bloody teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some homophobic language and violence

He dreamt about it for weeks. Not so much the torture, but the death – though the sound of flesh and bone being sawed through was certainly seared into his mind. Mostly, he thought of Cedric’s body, limp as quickly as the light had hit him, and Harry thought of his parents and how they’d died. How he himself could have died that night. And yet he hadn’t. How many times would he evade death? How many times would he cause the death of someone else? 

Dudley kept pestering him. Kept laughing at him. Harry had been waking up screaming and at first his uncle had given him a good whack for it, but he must’ve given up after the first two weeks of it. He certainly wasn’t pleased with Harry’s nightmares though – he kept giving Harry extra chores to “make up” for all the troubled sleeping he was causing everyone else in the house. As if Harry himself was sleeping very well. 

“Who’s Cedric? Your boyfriend?” Dudley would laugh, “Is magic making you a faggot now?” and then he would hit him in the arm, or kick him in the shin, however he felt Harry should be punished. That comment of Dudley’s began a new series of nightmares for Harry. 

He would dream of it, the conversation:  
“Why did you kiss me?” He would ask, calmly, evenly (at least the first time he dreamt it). And Draco would do it again; would try to hold his hand, or kiss him on the lips and Harry would wake up in a sweat unsure of what he was going to do because if he’d learned much from his family, he’d learned that homosexuality was the worst crime he could ever commit, worse than murder. As much as they hated him now, he didn’t know what they’d do if they found out he’d kissed a boy. Or rather – a boy had kissed him. 

A boy had kissed him, and he felt like a criminal, worse than he already had felt before in his own house. The memory of soft lips on his cheek burned, as bad as the cut on his forearm, as awful as when Petunia had burned his hand. His body was on fire, raging, and it was freezing, it was cold as ice and he woke up shivering every time.

He would imagine the conversation. Or rather, a lack of conversation. In his dreams he would shake Draco by the shoulders, slam a fist into his jaw much like his uncle had done him, leave his lips bloody and trembling. His hands would be covered in Draco’s blood, and still the blond would take his hand and kiss his bleeding knuckles. And Harry would hit him again, right in the damned mouth. He would do it without saying a word. If Draco tried to speak, the blood pouring against his tongue would gag him enough to stop his words from making sense and Harry would feel like he’d finally won against something, for the first time. He never felt like he ever fucking won, except in this fucking dream, a blond boy bleeding in his arms. 

In his dreams he would slam Draco against a wall and kiss him. He was so angry, and so hurt, and he would take the boy’s pale body in his arms and bury his face in the taller boy’s chest. Draco would reach down, tip up his chin and Harry would kiss him, right on the mouth that he so wished he could smother, suffocate. He thought of shoving a hand down Draco’s throat, crushing his windpipe from the inside out. He thought of Draco breaking his arms and legs and leaving him still breathing in a graveyard, unburied. 

In his dreams he imagined what would’ve happened if Cedric hadn’t grabbed the Portkey with him. If his own body had laid against the cold earth, never aging to be an adult, never becoming more than the mere body of a child who’d just hardly had his first kiss (if it even counted); rotting in the graveyard where Voldemort rose again. Cedric would’ve lived and no one but the Death Eaters would know the fate that had befallen Harry Potter. 

-  
It was the end of July, his birthday. He’d spent the day cleaning the house, as usual, polishing what he’d polished clean the day before. If Petunia found a single spot on her dishes, she’d be angry – he wouldn’t risk it. He could stand up to Malfoy, could duel Voldemort, and he was still afraid of his family. Figures.  
It was nightfall. Hedwig sat in her cage, beak between her feathers when her eyes opened wide. There was another owl at the window. A brown horned owl, carrying a letter attached by a green ribbon to its leg. Harry opened his window, quickly, snatched the letter. He knew who it was from before he even opened the thing.  
_  
Harry  
Happy Birthday! I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you anything. My father’s been home all summer. Don’t write me back – I don’t want him to know anything. I don’t know what he’d do. I hope you’re okay.  
Draco  
_

It was short, and it was stupid, and Harry told Malfoy’s owl to leave. He shoved the letter in his desk drawer, beside other scraps of letters he’d started but never sent. _Dear Ron, Dear Hermione, Mom, Dad, To whomever it may concern…_

He certainly never took the letter out of the drawer, certainly didn’t look at it again – at the shaky cursive of Draco’s handwriting, or the way he’d carefully written Harry’s name. 

-

There was Dudley and his friends. Harry had managed to leave the house. Had managed to get outside for a moment and breathe again and there was his cousin, grabbing him, kicking him into the dirt, calling him a worthless fairy, of all things. If he was a poof, he’d be called one. If he wasn’t, he’d be kicked anyway. It didn’t seem to matter in the end though, however much Dudley would hit him, because Harry still saved him from that damned dementor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in a hurry after taking a shower. I just watched The Lighthouse and have been feeling very weird. Sorry that this chapter is so violent. Don't worry though, this story won't be angsty forever. I'm thankful for every one of you that has continued reading this far. Your support keeps me going! Comments mean the world <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any predictions or ideas for this story please let me know! I'm very open to ideas as I'm still writing it (and if I use your idea, I'll credit you of course!) This is my first time uploading a fic to ao3, so I'm hoping the formatting and everything is okay. Kudos and comments are appreciated :)


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